O Surfista

My daughter took me to see this movie as an 02 freebie and we weren't sure what to expect. We still weren't really sure what we thought after we had seen it either but it wasn't good. I am an avid movie fan and thought the acting, cinematography and location were all superb. There is definitely an interesting idea of a story somewhere in here but it never really manages to emerge. The movie seems to drift between several different possible storylines and or outcomes. You keep hoping there will be a moment of revelation that explains it all, but that just doesn't really happen.

My advice, would be don't bother, there are better things to do with a couple of hours nearly, like cleaning an oven.

Watching Nicolas Cage spiral into madness has become something of a cinematic ritual-equal parts thrilling and unnerving.

In "The Surfer," directed by Lorcan Finnegan (Vivarium, Nocebo), that descent reaches new, sun-scorched depths. Cage's performance is as unhinged as it is calculated, delivering the kind of mesmerizing chaos only he can pull off.

But the question lingers: is it entertainment, or is it a warning?

After his sinister turn in "Longlegs," Cage reemerges here as a man simply trying to surf-only to be swallowed by a surreal psychological vortex on a seemingly idyllic Australian beach.

His protagonist, a nameless Surfer, returns to the coast of his youth, hoping to reclaim something pure, maybe even sacred. Instead, he runs afoul of a bizarrely authoritarian group of beach bullies led by the menacing Scally (played with eerie charisma by Julian McMahon).

What follows is not just confrontation-it's ritualistic humiliation and mental disintegration.

Finnegan constructs a sadistic fever dream where the beach becomes a battleground for the soul.

The parking lot-a space so ordinary-mutates into a nightmarish cage. Days blur into one another as the Surfer is stripped of every material attachment: his car, his phone, his designer watch, even his surfboard.

Starving, dehydrated, dirtied, and alone, he's forced to reckon with what he needs versus what he wants.

At its core, "The Surfer" is a grotesque satire of community and masculinity, where the desire to belong becomes a gateway to destruction.

It's a violent allegory for modern identity crises-particularly male identity in an age where digital connection often replaces genuine human bonds. The film flirts with primal themes: dominance, submission, survival, and the illusion of control.

It's almost comically extreme at times, but the humor is bitter, absurd, and often laced with horror.

Finnegan's Australia is vast and unforgiving-a place where the sea offers both escape and punishment. The landscape itself seems to mock the protagonist, serving as a mirror to his fractured ego.

The beach, once a symbol of freedom and youth, becomes a metaphysical arena for transformation. Women are notably absent, or at best peripheral, making the film's world a testosterone-fueled echo chamber that both critiques and indulges in its themes.

"The Surfer"'s journey isn't just physical-it's spiritual. He devolves, then transforms.

The brutal initiation into Scally's tribal gang might represent a search for meaning, a surrender to something primal in an over-sanitized, disconnected world. "You must suffer to surf," he proclaims-a mantra that suggests transcendence through pain. But the price is steep, and the reward ambiguous.

By the film's end, "the Surfer" has been stripped bare-of status, ego, and self-deception. What remains is either a reborn man or a hollow shell.

In interviews, Finnegan has described the film as an exploration of "masculinity in crisis," emphasizing how men can be manipulated into degrading rituals in pursuit of validation and belonging.

"The Surfer" doesn't just chronicle ego death-it explores the seductive, often terrifying power of group identity and the primal longing to be part of something greater.

Visually striking and psychologically punishing, "The Surfer" isn't a movie for all or most tastes. It demands patience and interpretive effort from its audience, but it rewards those willing to ride its chaotic wave.

Finnegan delivers a nightmare worth enduring-one that sticks to the skin like sand and saltwater long after the credits roll.

Saw this Friday night with my wife, and it has since been marinating in the back of my mind. I generally view this to be the mark of a good film. When I find myself several days later still pondering the story, the performances, the cinematography, and the overall message of what I watched it is inarguable that the finished movie turned out to be greater than the sum of its parts.

Come for Nick Cage (if you're a fan) but don't be disappointed by his more subdued turn. This is not the fully unhinged Nick we saw turned loose in Mandy, Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans, or Wild at Heart. This is a more nuanced descent into his patented insanity. It's a 30 year old scotch that will lingers on your palate instead of a tart and briny ale that is all but forgotten by the time you set the bottle down. At various times you'll find yourself asking what's real and what may be hallucination as his character suffers to prove his worthiness.

And that gorgeous slice of coast is a character in its own right as the coveted azure blue waves languidly rolling in to the pristine locals only beach under the brutal and unrelenting Australian sun that turns everything into a hazy mirage. Just steps off the beach waits the real world that the group viciously keeps at bay, dead rats, used crack pipes and condoms, the detritus and garbage swept clean of their little protected turf but there all along. Cage and 'the bum' are the human trash that Julian McMahon's alpha male guru cult leader cannot allow to threaten this little paradise.

You may wonder in the final moments what was real and what was imagined, and find yourself wondering what interpretation was intended for the viewer. Was Cage the bum all along? How much of what Nick's unnamed Surfer experienced was literal, and how much was the feverish working of a broken man's mind grasping unsuccessfully at the past? Director Lorcan Finnegan asks of you: what would you suffer to share your greatest joy and family history with your son, and what would you suffer if your son was lost to you?

I went into The Surfer hoping for a raw, introspective psychological drama, teased by a tense, visually compelling trailer. What I got instead was a slow-burning, empty exercise in atmospheric indulgence that left me not with awe or insight - but with regret.

Yes, Nicolas Cage commits - as he always does - and the cinematography occasionally flirts with something sublime. But that's where the merit ends. This film is all surface, no substance - a pretentious mirage of profundity. It meanders through barren philosophical terrain without ever planting anything meaningful. The script hints at existential themes, but never explores them. Instead, we're trapped in an increasingly repetitive spiral of meaningless encounters and monologues that feign depth but deliver only tedium.

Worst of all, The Surfer is emotionally hollow. You're not drawn into the protagonist's world - you're stranded there, watching a man unravel for reasons that feel contrived and underdeveloped. The pacing is glacial, not for the sake of contemplation, but seemingly to pad out a narrative that simply isn't there. By the time the credits roll, there's no catharsis, no revelation - just a lingering sense that your time was stolen under false pretenses.

The trailer is misleading, suggesting a taut psychological confrontation. In truth, the film unfolds like a student's first attempt at arthouse cinema - aesthetic for the sake of aesthetic, lacking coherence, lacking heart. I left the theater not stirred or reflective, but disillusioned and annoyed that such a promising premise was wasted so thoroughly.

In short: The Surfer is all waves and no tide. It poses as something deep, but never dares to dive in.

This was the first film I caught this year as part of the London Film Festival at the Prince Charles Cinema in Leicester Square. I've only ever been to this cinema previously to watch previous LFF films and I cannot remember enjoying a single one; the memory that sticks out to mind the most is the pain of watching Encounter with Riz Ahmed (REDACTED comment about members of the audience because it was too "mean"). Suffice to say, my expectations were low although admittedly through no fault of the film.

The film is about a father (played by Nic Cage) taking his son to surf at the same Australian beaches he used to in his childhood. However, he is prevented from doing so by a local gang of manly and sunburnt surfers who humiliate him in front of his son.

I can't remember the last time I enjoyed seeing someone suffer - on screen - this much. It must be a similar experience to sitting in the colosseum and seeing gladiators brutally harm each other, all for your entertainment. The amount of punishment, deprivation and gaslighting that Nic Cage's character suffered throughout the film is only matched by the sheer perseverance and desire he had to ride those sweet waves.

Despite the constant abuse being shown on screen, the film sustains a comedic and dreamy quality throughout. The soundtrack with its use of chimes and the camera with its play on focus helped elevate those scenes with a dehydrated Nic Cage to a place straddling between a delirious dream and a sweaty nightmare. Sometimes the film crosses into a point of hilarious ridiculousness; there is one scene where a dead rat comes out of someone's pocket and is used as a weapon.

This is one of those recent and great films with Nicolas Cage that do hit the mark. It's very funny, it sometimes feels like a comedy play due to its very small number of locations and the film making is interesting and competent, something that sometimes seems neglected with comedy films.

One last thing to note is that the film has a small role played well by Justin Rosniak who I've enjoyed recently in Australian shows like Mr Inbetween and Colin from Accounts. Apparently also, Wake in Fright was a big influence to Lorcan Finnegan in the making of this film, one that I'll have to check out soon.